Dance Amongst Daggers
by literary deviant
Summary: Young actresses are disappearing in Los Angeles, only to show up dead two days later. The BAU takes the case, where Reid runs into Lila, and she quickly becomes more involved in case as her and Reid's lives are put at risk.
1. Preface

**A/N:** This is my first _Criminal Minds_ story, though I have more in the works. Reid's my favorite, I love the BAU's resident genius :) I mostly prefer writing gen for this fandom, but this fic is Reid/Lila, so is on more of the romantic side. Still it's also a case-fic. I'm pretty sure it's going to focus more on the case than on the relationship between Reid and Lila, so if you're not a fan of that pairing you can probably still enjoy. It takes place in Season 7; no spoilers as of yet, though I will warn you ahead of time.

* * *

 **PREFACE**

* * *

Amber yanked once again at her restraints. Metal clanked against metal, but nothing budged, and the chains that held her prisoner stayed nailed into the ground. A defeated sob made its way passed her lips, when all her attempt accomplished was nearly ripping her arms from their sockets and bruising her wrists more than they already were.

She scooted herself back against the dirty wall and pulled her legs up to her chest, muffling her crying in the top of her knees. Her face, once strikingly beautiful, was now grimy and tearstained. Her golden blond hair was now matted a redish-brown, and hung in her face a tangled mess. Manacles circled her wrists and ankles, the cold metal biting into her flesh; her wrists were rubbed raw and bruising from tugging at them to try and escape.

A head wound painted the side of her face with dried blood, though the searing pain in her scalp had long since faded to a dull throb. Her arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and the sharp pain in her chest when she breathed made her certain she'd broken a rib. Thankfully, it didn't seem to have punctured a lung.

She didn't know how long she sat there, her own pitiful sobs and ragged breathing filling up the silence. Minutes blurred into hours, hours blurred into days. Time was irrelevant when one had nothing to do but sit and feel sorry for yourself. The quiet of the room was thick and stifling, and all she knew of was the cold and the dark and the pain.

And she waited.

Waited for him to come back.

What seemed years later, though in reality wasn't a really long time at all, the stillness was broken by the now-familiar sound of a door creaking open above her. The sound was foreboding, spoke of the agony to come, and brought the conditioned response of fear in its wake. Amber's head snapped up from her knees, not bothering to wipe at the tears drying on her face, and her blue-green eyes were blown wide in terror.

The heavy _thud_ of footsteps descending the stairs reached her ears, and she shrank further into herself, locking her arms around her knees as she waited with bated breath for him to appear.

The footsteps drew closer, and the smallest of whimpers escaped her. Amber immediately pressed her lips together, clamping a hand to her mouth to keep herself quiet.

He appeared from the darkness, like a specter from shadows. His heavy boots kicked up plumes of dust as he approached her, and Amber cowered away. He crouched down next to her, and her heart leaped into her throat, her pulse racing; he was so close they were sharing the same air.

The smile he directed her way sent shivers up her spine. It was sharp, predatory.

"How's my little pet doing today?" he purred. His voice was all suave and charm, but Amber wasn't fooled; she knew better now. It had been stupid of her to fall for the act the first time. A pretty face and the promise of a movie deal, and that was all it had taken to make her putty in his hands.

Stupid, she thought. How could she have been so naïve?

A smile playing around his lips, the man reached to examine a strand of her hair between his fingers. Amber flinched back. He chuckled lowly at the reaction, amused.

His fingers moved from her hair to her face, trailing down the path of her cheek until he was grasping her chin in his hand, yanking her head up harshly so she was forced to look him in the eyes. She tried to fight against it, but there was no point, and she went slack.

His eyes roamed her face, drinking in her features. "You are rather beautiful, you know." His words were contradicted by the expression of disgust his face was twisted into, as he looked upon her. While his voice was smooth as silk, his face was all hard-edges and cruelty. "I bet you have dozens of young men ensnared in your pretty little trap."

Amber's heart beat loudly against her ribs. The man's grip on her chin tightened, bruising in its intensity.

"It's a powerful feeling, isn't it?" he said. "To be able to flash a smile and flip your hair, and get whatever you want. Just because you're a pretty face." His jaw clenched. Nails dug into her skin, and she whimpered. "Well, you can't fool me. You're nothing but whores, the whole lot of you. And I see just how ugly you really are inside."

Amber whimpered again. "Please… Let me go…"

Anger sparked in his dark eyes. There was a blur of movement, too quick for her eyes to follow, and he back-handed her across the face, throwing her onto the dirty ground. Her cheek stung. Tears stung at her eyes, fell down her cheeks.

"Stupid bitch," he snarled. "You're not going anywhere."

Amber shook her head, gasping for breath. "Please," she begged. "I haven't _done_ anything!"

The man's face darkened, before he took a deep breath, seeming to be trying to reign in his rage. "It's not what you _did_. It's what you _are_."

Amber slowly pushed herself back up, her chains clanking together as she did. She pressed a hand against her throbbing cheek, now a bright red. "But I don't understand."

"I know, I know." He stood up to look down at her, his smile cruel and mocking. "All you wanted was to be a star. To be recognized. For your face to be on everyone's television screen."

He turned and walked a few feet away, and for a moment, Amber allowed herself to hope he was going away. But he came back, pulling a rack with him, covered by a sheet. He stopped next to her.

"You wanted your face to be one that no one would ever forget," he told her.

He whipped the sheet of the rack, and Amber stared in horror. On the rack was a tray, and laid out on the tray were dozens of tiny instruments, like knives, and scalpels, and tiny blades.

Amber stopped breathing completely. The scream got stuck in her throat.

"Congratulations," said the man. His eyes glittered, and the grin he wore stretched his entire face. "I'm gonna give you a face no one will _ever forget_."

* * *

 **A/N:** Please review. Any sort of feedback makes my day. I'm working on the next chapter now; it's much longer, and includes all of the team. We'll start to get the case rolling, so that should be more interesting. I hope.


	2. Chapter One

**A/N:** I didn't mean to take so long with this, sorry. But hopefully now that it's summer, I'll have more time to write. Now, this chapter is mostly about setting up the case, so it isn't real interesting, but it should pick up soon. Spoilers for _Corazon_ , and vague mention of events in _Lauren_.

* * *

 **ONE**

* * *

Reid nursed his mug of coffee in his left hand, the warmth emanating from it spreading to his fingers and heating up his skin. His elbow rested on his desk, the fingers of his right hand pressing against his temple, trying to relieve the throbbing there. His head was bowed, his eyes squinted shut against the light. It felt like someone was playing a game of ping-pong with his brain.

He hadn't gotten a headache this bad in a while - at least a few weeks. His brain pounded against his skull, and nothing would make it stop. Because according to every doctor he'd asked, nothing was wrong. He was in perfect health.

It could have been worse, Reid supposed. The migraine was painful, yes, but he wasn't in unbearable agony. A few months back, they had been so bad he would spend most of the night leaning over the tiolet, dry-heaving and shaking. While working that case with the team in Miami, the pain had been so blinding he had been unable to see straight.

The headaches had since then lessened, both in frequency and intensity. But he still got them, and in time he had come to accept them as a part of his life, and that there was nothing he could do. They became a constant. Something he would have to learn to live with.

He brought the coffee up to his lips. The hot liquid scalded his tongue, but the slight sting was welcome. It took his attention off the pain in his head, if only momentarily.

Heavy footsteps approached, just as Reid was setting his mug back down. "Yo, Pretty Boy. You alright there?"

Reid looked up into the worried face of Derek Morgan. The expression he wore was all too familiar to him - he had seen it directed his way too many times to count. The man's eyebrows were drawn down, as he stopped about a foot from Reid's desk. A mug of freshly-poured coffee was held in his hand.

"You don't look too good."

Reid made an effort to raise his head, trying not to squint when the lighting in the bullpen assaulted his eyes. His hand fell away from his head, onto the desk.

"I'm fine, Morgan. Just tired."

"Really?" Morgan gave him a searching look. He had long ago become accustomed to the fact that the words 'I'm fine' coming from Reid's mouth usually tended to mean just the opposite.

"Really." When his friend continued to give that scrutinizing look, the answer obviously not good enough for him, Reid sighed. "Okay, so I have a slight headache. No big deal, it's fine."

Morgan frowned. "You're still getting those?"

"Not as often," said Reid. He rolled his eyes at Morgan's expression. "I'm telling you, it's not that bad. Stop worrying."

"Impossible, kid," he replied. He grinned as he turned to pass Reid's desk, reaching over to ruffle his hair as he did so. Reid grumbled under his breath, glaring as he tried to fix it.

"Hey, Emily," Morgan called over, to where Prentiss sat at her own desk. "So what's going on? Do we have a case today, or what?"

Emily looked up from the reports she was filling out, setting down her pen. "I don't know. I thought we did, but I haven't even seen Hotch today - "

"Hey guys." As if summoned there by will alone, JJ peeked her head out of the Round Table Room, her blond hair falling loose around her shoulders. All three of them in the bullpen turned their heads to look at her. "Hotch wants all of you in here for the briefing. We've got a case."

She ducked her head back into the room. Emily, Reid, and Morgan glanced at each other.

"Well, there you go," Emily told Morgan. "We have a case."

She quickly closed all of the open files on her desk, and she and Morgan made their way into the Round Table Room. Reid, after grabbing his coffee, followed after them.

The throbbing in his head persisted, and he tried his best to ignore it.

* * *

"Good morning, my lovelies," Garcia greeted them as they sat down. She was colorful and flamboyant as usual, her bubbly demeanor at odds with the serious atmosphere that had taken over the room. "Your destination today is in Sunny California, but if you will turn your attention to the screen behind me, you will see that the situation they have there is anything _but_ sunny."

She swiveled in her chair to face the large screen they were all facing, which now displayed the Bureau's homescreen. With a click of the remote in her hand, the background changed to display the pictures of four different young women.

All of them, Reid quickly noted, were blond. They also all had hazel eyes.

"During the passed three weeks, Los Angeles has experienced a string of murders of young actresses that frequent around the same area," Garcia began. "Each of them were reported missing, only to be found dead two days later, their bodies discarded in alleyways."

Reid tapped his fingers repeatedly on the rim of his coffee mug as he stared at the screen. To the right of him, Rossi was looking at the case file that had been passed out to each of them when they entered the room.

"The victims?" he questioned.

Penelope inclined her head. "I was just getting to that, my good sir."

She directed their attention toward the first blond on the screen. "Laurel Whitestone," she pronounced. "The first victim. 26 years old. She was reported missing three weeks ago by her manager when she failed to show up to a photoshoot she was scheduled for and he could not get a hold of her. Police found her body two days later in an alley. Her face had been disfigured, and someone had chopped off her hair."

With a wince, Garcia showed them a picture of the now-dead Laurel Whitestone. The crime scene photo showed the once-gorgeous woman discarded in an alley among the garbage, her face sliced up and her hair chopped off rough and unevenly.

The picture of her dead was a sharp contrast to the one above it, where Laurel Whitestone was smiling, vibrant and happy. People always assumed that the pictures of the dead bodies were the worst to look at, but the photos of the victims while they were still alive, to Reid, were worse. He had to look at them as they had been, happy and _alive_ \- and knowing what happened to them, how their lives had been stolen from them.

"The second victim," Garcia continued, "Jennifer Caulder, 28, went missing a week after Laurel Whitestone, five days after her body was found." Another crime scene photo replaced the last, this one no less or no more gruesome. "Her body was found two days later, in an alley just like the first. Her hair and face were in the same condition. She lived alone in her apartment, so no one reported her missing until they found the body, the poor girl.

"Gabby Karsh, third victim." She pointed at the third girl lined up on the screen. "25. She disappeared another five days after police found the body of Jennifer Caulder, only to be found in the same state two days later. She was reported missing by a co-worker when she failed to show up to work.

"The last victim, 28 year old Alyssa Venyerd, went missing another five days later, reported by her roommate. She was found in an alleyway just like all the others, nearly a week ago."

A picture of the last crime scene appeared on the screen, accompanied by a picture of the alive and smiling Alyssa Venyerd. The team examined the photo for a moment, then looked to the case files held in front of them.

Hotch flipped through his folder, and without looking up asked, "There were no signs of sexual assault on any of the victims?"

"No, sir, none."

"That's rare," said Prentiss. "He's keeping these women for two days. If he isn't raping them, what's he doing with them in that time?"

It wasn't a question she expected an answer to, so she didn't get one. Reid frowned at the files in front of him, thinking. If this UnSub's motive wasn't sexual-based, then why was he kidnapping and killing these women?

He studied the photos of the eerily similar crime scenes. The way the UnSub had discarded their bodies made it clear that the women he was murdering held no real worth to him. He chopped off their hair, disfigured their faces - the victims he chose were undoubtedly beautiful, yet instead of holding their beauty in high regard, he seemed to detest the sight of it.

"Our UnSub feels his victims are nothing more than trash," said Reid, looking up. "He discards their bodies like waste because to him they are useless. As for the chopped hair and distortion of their facial features . . ." He frowned. "It's like . . . he's trying to turn what other people consider beautiful into something ugly."

Across from him, JJ's lips pulled into a thin line. "Like he wants to take their beauty away," she noted grimly.

Most of the team looked thoughtful at that. Morgan dropped his folder on the table with a slap.

"It's quite possible," he said. "And we know from the victims that he chose that he obviously has a preference. All of his victims have been blond with hazel eyes."

"Most likely a surrogate," said Hotch. "An ex-girlfriend, a former close friend. Someone the UnSub feels has wronged him in some way."

"But he can't take his anger out on the real object of his rage," said Prentiss. "So he goes after women that look like her instead."

"Garcia," said JJ, "You said all of these women were actresses?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "All of them were actresses, though nothing major. Most of them mainly had minor or supporting roles in television shows. Nothing too Hollywood."

"The last victim, Alyssa Venyerd," said Rossi. "You said her body was found just a week ago?"

"Six days," Garcia clarified.

Hotch's face grew more serious. "He only waited five days between kills to go after another victim. It's more than likely he's already kidnapped his fifth victim."

"And judging by his previous pattern, means we have another day before he kills her."

"Which means we'll have to work fast." Hotch stood from his seat. "Alright, wheels up in twenty. I'll meet all of you on the plane."

Hotchner quickly exited the room. The rest of the team stood and followed him to the door, to go and quickly grab their go-bags. This job required them to have one ready at all times.

"See you soon, darlings!" Garcia called after them. "Stay safe!"

* * *

Reid winced, closing his eyes against the sharp jab of pain in his head as they lifted up off the ground. For a moment he thought his headache had abandoned him, but no such luck. Someone was using his head as a drum, and he was finding it hard to concentrate on the conversation going on around him.

The team sat around on the plane, their case folders sprawled out in front of them as they quickly went over what they knew about the case one more time. Hotch sat next to Prentiss, across from Rossi and Morgan, who had abandoned his headphones for the moment.

Reid sat off to the side, JJ across from him with her case file on her lap.

Try as he might, he couldn't focus on their conversation. His migraine demanded all his attention.

"Hey, Spence." JJ was leaning forward, her eyebrows creased in worry. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Reid gritted out. JJ didn't know about about his migraines, and he really wasn't in the mood to get into it with her. Emily and Morgan were the only ones who knew (though he was sure Hotch had a faint idea). A few months ago, he probably wouldn't have hesitated to confide in her. But after Emily's return from 'death' things between them weren't like they used to be, and had become strained. He had forgiven her, but there wasn't the same level of trust between them that there had once been.

JJ still looked unsure, like she wanted to press him, but Reid pointedly turned away from her so she reluctantly dropped the subject.

Hotch was saying something, his mouth moving as he looked through the photographs, and Reid put all his concentration in getting the words to reach his ears. It was like he was hearing them through a tunnel.

His head was killing him, and he hated it. These headaches plagued him constantly, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The UnSubs were easy, but this? Whatever was happening in his mind wasn't something tangible that he could fight.

The doctor's words came back to him:

 _"Well, have you considered . . ."_

 _"Considered what?"_

 _"A . . . psychosomatic cause."_

Reid shook those thoughts free. No. No. It wasn't that. It was something else. He was having headaches, yes. But that didn't mean he should immediately jump to the conclusion of schizophrenia.

"All of the victims have signs of blunt trauma to the head," he heard Hotch saying, and turned his attention back to his superior, "and there were no traces of drugs in their systems, so we can assume our UnSub is taking these women down by force, which means he'd have to be physically capable."

"What makes you sure the UnSub is male?" JJ questioned.

"Easy," said Morgan. "He takes the women down by force, like Hotch said, and they're obviously gonna try and put up a fight. A woman is more likely to drug her victims, rather than use physical violence. She wouldn't be confident enough that she could overpower them."

Prentiss snorted. "Why, just because she's female? That's so sexist."

Morgan shrugged. "Maybe it is, but it's still true."

"Meanwhile we have an unknown fifth victim out there," said Rossi.

"I've already got Garcia on that," Hotch said. "She's searching missing persons reports for any women that have gone missing recently that fit the criteria. She'll call us if she comes up with anything."

"She probably won't," said Reid. "If the UnSub _has_ in fact taken another victim, then he's only had her for about a day, perhaps less. It's quite likely she hasn't even been reported as missing yet."

Morgan huffed, frustrated as he slumped in his seat. "So, what? We wait around until she is, and someone happens across her body in a ditch somewhere?"

"The UnSub's MO shows he leaves the bodies in alleys, not ditches," Reid corrected.

Morgan gave him a glare that said _shut up_. Reid did.

"No," said Hotch, "We don't wait. We investigate the crime scenes and work with the local authorities to see what we can find out, and try to work on putting together a profile. It'll be the key to catching this guy, hopefully before he kills anyone else."

"I can go investigate the most recent dumpsite," Rossi volunteered. "Try and see what it can tell us."

Hotch nodded his consent. "Morgan can go with you," he said. "And Prentiss and Reid can go check out Alyssa Venyerd's apartment, maybe talk with her roommate."

Emily and Reid both nodded.

"JJ and I will go back to the station, and the head of local law enforcement will get us up to date on the case and tell us what he knows. We'll need to get started on a geographical profile as soon as possible."

With everyone knowing what their assignments would be when the plane landed in L.A, further conversation tampered off. Hotch continued to go through his case file, examining every tiny detail in case he skipped over something. Morgan put his headphones back on, beginning to relax with the familiar music filtering through his ears.

Reid leaned his forehead against the plane window, allowing the cool glass to soothe his pounding head. He could see JJ watching him in concern from the corner of his eye, but he closed his eyes and forced himself not to acknowledge her.

* * *

Hours later, Hotch and JJ walked into the L.A. police department, after everyone had dropped off their bags at the nearby hotel they were staying at. Reporters had tried to get their attention, and had bombarded them outside when they exited their vehicle, but JJ had told them 'no comment'. They didn't know enough about the case yet to decide what they were going to tell the press.

"Ah. Agent Hotchner, I assume?" a heavy-set man greeted them. "My name is Officer Landon, I'm head of this investigation."

Hotchner nodded as he shook the man's hand. "Yes, we spoke on the phone." He gestured to JJ. "This is Agent Jareau, the rest of my team have already gone to get a start on the case. They'll be joining us shortly."

JJ offered up a smile, also reaching forward to shake Officer Landon's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," said Landon. "I can't thank you enough for coming. With these recent murders, and no more leads to go on . . . well, my department has been at a loss with how to farther handle the situation."

"You were right to call us," said Hotch. "Is there a place where we can set up?"

Landon nodded quickly. "Oh yes, of course. Right this way. I had my secretary prepare a space for you as soon as I heard you were coming."

He led them through the station, toward a place near the back that had been cleared for their arrival. It was large enough, and would do fine for them to set up in.

"I know it's not much . . ." said Landon.

"It'll do fine," JJ assured him. This seemed to reassure him slightly.

"JJ," said Hotch, "Get to work on the geographical profile, will you?"

"On it." She turned to Landon. "You don't happen to have a map of the area we can use, do you?"

"Oh, yes! Right on it." Landon dashed to get them a map. JJ turned to her boss.

"He seems pretty cooperative," she noted. "It's too bad all chief police officers can't be so compliant when inviting us into an investigation."

"Here you go," said Landon upon his return, handing JJ a folded up map. JJ thanked him, and quickly set about unfolding the map and pinning it up to the wall.

"So." As she set to work on the geographical profile, Hotch turned his serious eyes onto the head officer. "Tell me everything you know about these murders."

* * *

"FBI," Prentiss pronounced, as she dangled her badge over the concierge desk, so the woman sitting there could see it clearly. "We need to examine Alyssa Venyerd's apartment."

The concierge, a woman with short reddish hair that bobbed at her chin, stared at the badge with wide green eyes, before quickly gathering herself. "Of course." She chewed on her bottom lip, before glancing up at them. "This . . . this is about the murders, isn't it? So it's true, someone did kill her?"

Reid sighed. "Yeah," he told her. "Someone did."

Redhead opened her mouth to ask another question, but before she could Prentiss interrupted with a pointed, "Her room, please."

The woman pressed her lips together, embarrassed she was acting like a gossiping schoolgirl. "R-right. I'm sorry. Her room is 36B, just take the elevator to the second floor and you should find it no problem."

"Thank you," said Reid, as Prentiss snapped her badge closed and stuffed it back in her pants' pocket. They made their way to the elevator, and Spencer pressed the button that showed the upward arrow, causing it to light up. The metal doors slid open, and the two of them stepped inside. Prentiss clicked the button to take them to the second floor. The doors slid closed.

The lights in the elevator were bright, and Reid squinted his eyes against them. Prentiss frowned when she noticed this.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine." Emily frowned, not buying it, but the dinging of the elevator as the doors slid open prevented her from asking any further questions.

Walking out, it was easy enough to find Alyssa's room, as the concierge had said. The numbers _36B_ were emblazoned on the wall next to the door. Emily's hand went to turn the doorknob, but Reid's arm shot out to stop her.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't just walk right in," he said. "Alyssa's roommate still lives in the apartment. Remember, Garcia said she was the one to report Alyssa missing."

Prentiss retracted her arm. "Right." She didn't have an eidetic memory like Reid; the small bit of information had slipped her mind, and she had honestly forgotten.

She raised her fist to knock. Scuffing was heard behind the door, and a few moments later a slim girl with black hair opened the door. She had dyed the tips of her hair what looked to be a hot pink, that had now faded to a softer shade. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she was dressed in simple yoga pants and a white tank top.

"What do you want?" she asked bluntly. Her voice was raw from recent crying.

"I'm Agent Prentiss and this is Dr. Reid. We're with the FBI and we were wondering if - "

"If you could ask me some questions?" she guessed, glaring. "Yeah, I've gotten a lot of that this past week."

Emily sighed. She couldn't imagine what it must be like for the girl. Her roommate was just found dead not even a week ago, and now she had police and law enforcement butting in and asking questions before she even had time to grieve. But as always, finding who was responsible was top priority, so the job took precedence over hurt feelings.

"We're really sorry," Emily told her. "I know that talking to us is probably the last thing you want to do right now. But I promise, it's just a few routine questions. It won't take but a minute."

The woman pressed her lips into a thin line, considering. "The FBI?" she questioned. "You're trying to find out who killed Alyssa?"

"Yes," said Emily. "Please, we only want to help. It's important that we find this guy before he hurts any other women."

"And if I answer your questions . . . that will help find the son of a bitch?"

Reid blinked. "Uh, well, we can't say for sure. But it's quite possible, yes."

She studied them for a moment, before nodding and opening the door wider. "Alright," she said. "But only because it could help find this guy."

"Thank you," said Prentiss. She entered the apartment, and Reid slipped in after her.

* * *

Rossi and Morgan examined the dumpsite with a carefully trained eye. Some feet behind the, Lt. Cambry watched with a critical gaze as they analyzed the scene before them. He had made it clear from the moment they arrived that he considered the art of profiling nothing but enhanced and fabricated guesswork. Needless to say, it hadn't been a good way to get on the two agents' good side.

It took them but a few moments to analyze the scene, and figure out what they could tell from it - which wasn't much more than they already knew.

"Well," said Rossi, "it was fairly easy to find the body here, and the same with all the others. The UnSub obviously isn't concerned with the police, he went through no effort to hide the bodies."

Morgan frowned. "So he wants the bodies to be found," he guessed.

The older profiler nodded. "Could be. Maybe he wants to show them off? To show other people what he's done to these women."

"He most likely has a very narcissistic personality," said Morgan. "Is probably confident, good-looking."

A sharp ring interrupted the two, and Rossi and Morgan looked to Lt. Cambry. The noise was coming from his pocket, from his cellphone, and the lieutenant fished it out of his pants and answered it.

"What is - sir," he cut himself off when he realized who was on the other line. "What's going on?"

The two profiles discretely listened in on the one side of the conversation that they could hear. Lt. Cambry, paused, presumedly listening to the person on the other end. His eyes went wide, shocked.

"Oh my God," he said. "You're kidding."

Rossi and Morgan exchanged worried glances. What was going on?

Another pause. Lt. Cambry quickly shook his head. "No, sir. Of course not. Yeah, we'll be there right away."

Face looking much more grim than it had a few moments ago, Cambry hung up the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Morgan and Rossi turned to face him.

"Is something wrong?" Rossi asked him.

The lieutenant sighed. "That was Officer Landon," he told them. "He said they've found another body."

* * *

 **A/N:** Like I said, not too interesting, but it will pick up soon. For those of you wondering where Lila is, don't worry, she'll be coming in soon. And a note on Reid's headaches, I know that there were no signs that he was still having them in season 7, but in early season 8, Reid tells Blake he met Maeve while attempting to get rid of his headaches. Since Reid hasn't met Maeve at this point, I'm assuming he still has them.

Please review!


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